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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24613819">Pyromaniac</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/anticentristpropaganda/pseuds/anticentristpropaganda'>anticentristpropaganda</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Centricide (Webseries)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, TW: F slur, TW: Self Harm, i cant stop myself from writing nazsadist im sorry, im sorry if this doesnt make sense, tw: housefire</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 09:33:48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>693</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24613819</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/anticentristpropaganda/pseuds/anticentristpropaganda</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Nazbol has an obsession with fire because of a certain boy he just can't shake.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Nazbol/Posadist</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>30</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Pyromaniac</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Ah, so I can see you've taken after me, Naz." grinned Posadist. I froze in my seat, staring directly ahead. A single candle burned, daring me to touch it. </p><p>"I'm not gonna burn myself, stupid. You've always been the tougher one anyway." I sighed. I turned around to meet his gaze.<br/>
"Then touch the candle, pussy!" he laughed, looming over me. I turned back away from him and squeezed the wick of the candle, the flame burning my skin but  disintegrating in my grasp. I stared up into his eyes. Bright reds and oranges mixing, like lava. His grin, exposing his white teeth. His dimples, stretched and deep. The face I fucking hated and loved simultaneously. </p><p>He punched me in the arm. "That's the spirit. Now, when are you gonna stop punishing yourself for what happened?" he spoke into my ear cooly. His shadow whipped and flickered, like the flame I choked. The flame I killed.<br/>
"I don't "punish myself", faggot. I'm just not a coward." </p><p>My words stung him, like a slap in the face. His arms slung around my shoulders, and his cheek pressed up against mine. I flinched but didn't resist. Because to me, this is just punishing myself again. Because I acted like I hated this, being romantic with him. I called him a faggot, a queer, punched him, scarred him. But for some reason, he had kept coming back. I could never understand why. </p><p>And there was something in me that loved this too. The warm, heavy feeling in my stomach, the prickly tickles all over my arms and legs, the heat in my forehead and cheeks. This all came from his fingertips, his glances, his kisses. But there was a louder voice inside, who despised him for making me feel like this. It turned that warm heavy feeling into sickness. It turned the prickly tickles into goosebumps. It turned the heat on my face into sweat.</p><p>So you can imagine why I avoided him at all costs.</p><p>I leaned into his touch, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. He pressed his forehead against mine, our noses awkwardly bumping and our lips almost touching.</p><p>"But you know I can't stay forever," he whispered.  And he left up in smoke.</p><p>......</p><p>I lit a candle again today. For the 50th day in a row, setting it down on the desk. The reflection of the flame flickered the waxy coat of the only picture I had of us. But I understood, Posadist couldn't always come. </p><p>"Hey, P." I smiled. "It's been a while." I could almost see his eyes in the flickering candle. Like I saw yesterday. "Anmon told me that it's getting harder and harder for people like you to come be with us again. People? Spirits? I'm not quite sure." I fiddled with my fingers, trying to think of a way to say this next part.<br/>
"I passed by your old apartment yesterday, after our little chat. I saw the bones of the wood, the upturned pipes, the blackened edges of what remained of the sheet rock." I swallowed. "And I thought about how you talked about me punishing myself. And I just wanted to say you were right. Because since you, uh, left-" I choked. The tears couldn't stop coming, but this wouldn't be much longer. "-I've hurt myself even more than when you were still here." I glanced up and down my arms, black burns covering my skin. "And the worst part is that I deserve it. Every scar, every lick of pain. Because it makes me feel closer to you. To know that this is just a small amount of the pain we felt before you-" I took a deep breath. "I've had enough of us being apart. I miss you so much. I'm going to join you up there, P." I exhaled. My hands shook intensely as I struck a match. I threw the match over my shoulder, the carpet catching flame. As the flames roared around me, I smiled. Because I didn't have to worry about the cold, deep voice that convinced me to shiver in the arms of my lover anymore.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>sorry for killing both of the characters but what can i say teehee</p><p>also if ur confused like... in the opening scene posadist's ghost is visiting nazbol and nazbol blames himself for posadist dying in a housefire, which is why he burns himself uhhh i hope you got it without this explanation though</p></blockquote></div></div>
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